Don't Trust Your Instincts
by Diary
Summary: Warning: Contains adultery. Because the thing is, Pansy, age two or age two hundred, apparently has it imprinted in her soul to always make things worse for herself. Instead of doing what she ought to do, she does what she wants or what she thinks is the best, and sometimes, it'll seem to work, but in the end, she always ends up paying the price. Complete. Edited slightly.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: Contains adultery.

* * *

Sometimes, Pansy wants to go back in time and tell her seventeen-year-old self-

In all honesty, she doesn't know what she wants to tell herself.

When she was ten, she uttered the word 'mudblood'. When she was eight, she left a scar on Draco's house-elf. When she was seventeen, she tried to hand over a classmate to a dark wizard. When she was seventeen, she lost her virginity to a boy she called mudblood, and even though she scoffed and genuinely thought he was an idiot, she believed him when he said, "_I love you_."

She'd tell herself not to believe him. She'd tell herself he didn't mean it, he was just a minority with the whole damn world against him and she was a fit bird he had a bit of power over despite her being considered one of the elite.

And because she knew herself at seventeen, seventeen year old Miss Pansy Annabeth Parkinson would point out the only power he used was to keep him and his safe. He gave her some of the sweets they managed to swipe from Hogsmeade in exchange for not turning them in, and she was the one who pinned him to the floor and snogged him senseless. She was the one who reached below waist level, first, and she was the one who scoffed and smacked him when he was hesitantly holding himself over her, whispering, "_Are you sure? Really sure_?"

Because the thing is, Pansy, age two or age two hundred, apparently has it imprinted in her soul to always make things worse for herself. Instead of doing what she ought to do, she does what she wants or what she thinks is the best, and sometimes, it'll seem to work, but in the end, she always ends up paying the price.

So, she'd tell her stupid, scared seventeen-year-old self that he's a do-gooder Hufflepuff, terrified for himself and everyone he actually loves, and it's easier to believe the hormones produced by sex are legitimate feelings than acknowledge the truth of the situation. And that truth is he doesn't know anything real about her aside from the fact she loves jelly slugs. He's a good little boy, and _no judgement, kid, I was you, but you're a shallow little twit who still refuses to acknowledge that your prince charming might die and is in love with Harry Potter and who gets off on bringing people down_.

If she's honest, it probably wouldn't work and, like everything, might make things worse for herself.

She's thirty-two, and she's just committed adultery.

It took her years to move past the backlash of trying to hand Harry Potter over, but eventually, she succeeded. Part of that had been marrying Peter O'Flaherty, a half-blood editorialist with a reputation for honesty. She didn't love him, wasn't sure if he loved her, but they got along well and she was happy.

Everything she wanted, a nice house, a respected position in society, plenty of money for the finer things, was hers.

Then, she gained a stone and couldn't lose it no matter how hard she tried. Healer Wilson, looking weary because she'd know Pansy since babyhood, had explained weight gain was simply a part of growing older for many people, going on about health and nutrition, and Pansy knew she was worried Pansy would do something dangerously unhealthy in an attempt to lose it.

And Pansy had really meant to do things right this time, had meant to do what she ought to. That's what makes this so sharp and sore in her stomach and chest is that she had honestly meant to do better, be better.

Despite that, she'd found herself sending an owl to Justin Finch-Fletchley.

They'd met for lunch and didn't talk about her husband. They talked about his career as an Unspeakable, about Hogwarts and old classmates, and about the fact he was single. She'd asked if he wanted to take her to his place, and he'd hesitated before bringing up Peter. "We both believe in privacy," she'd answered.

That had been true enough, only not really.

They had a joint account at Gringotts, and neither of them ever asked the other why gold had been withdrawn, what it had been spent on. She met Draco for lunch occasionally, and Peter sometimes flooed over to his secretary's house and fixed her clogged toilet. There was never any suspicion or probing questions. When Peter went on business trips, she rarely went with him, and when he came home, she didn't ask him anything other than how his trip was, did he get any good pictures, and what his favourite restaurant was. Two years ago, she'd gone through a phase of wanting to sleep in hotels across London, and he'd never questioned why, asked her if anyone was staying with her, or anything besides making sure she had her portkey, some extra money, and the right map; when she came back, he asked her which where her favourites, what she ordered from room service, and which she'd recommend to his parents when they went on their yearly vacation.

Pansy isn't self-deluded enough to believe her answer had been honest.

They trust one another.

She and Draco hadn't even held hands since their sixth year, and Scorpius is Draco's everything, so much so that even a willing Harry Potter couldn't get Draco to do anything to jeopardise his marriage to Astoria. Peter's secretary once blew up her house in an attempt to fix the toilet and absolutely refuses to hire a plumber. Pansy knows some women probably flirted with him on his business trips, but she'd be very surprised if it ever came out he'd done anything but talk to them before going back to his room alone. No one ever stayed with her in the hotels, and at most, she flirted with the young bellboy who trailed after her, obviously admiring her bum.

Peter is bloody trustworthy, and even though he knows her, knows a lot of what she'd done in the past, he still trusts her, and for a long time, Pansy did what she ought to do and had earned and deserved the trust given.

As she tries to slip out of bed, Justin sleepily grabs her hand. "I could support you," he says. "Like he does. I love you."

"Sorry, Hufflepuff," she says, leaning down to kiss him. "Thanks for lunch."

Some part of her wonders if he does love her, if he did when they were seventeen. She wonders if he truly knows her and sees her, or if he has some idealistic alternate interpretations of her in his mind.

But it doesn't matter because life kept denying her what she wanted, and when she finally got as close as she would get to it, she had to realise she didn't particularly like herself, and unfortunately, she's always hated tales of self-pity and longing for redemption. The one time she and Draco ever had a genuine connection was when they were fifteen, sitting on a swing in her backyard; she'd been complaining about this program on the wireless, she doesn't even remember what it was, now, and said, "_I'd hex them if they were real. They've changed like they wanted, and the important people have forgiven them. The only thing keeping them from redemption is that they won't forgive themselves. It's stupid, how they kept hating themselves, keep trying and trying to deserve it. Just move on and be happy._"

He'd gotten a soft, almost scared look on his face and leaned over, pressing his lips against hers. Then, he'd blurted out, "_My father's gone, and it's Potter's fault, but he's not wrong. Sometimes, I worry he will lose." _

Diggory was dead, her family was under investigation, too, and all she'd done was given a tart reply. "_You fancy him, Draco._"

The truth is, her current friendship with Draco probably wouldn't exist if she hadn't said that, hadn't ever tried to use the fact she knew to manipulate him. It was just a fact they both knew, one that no one else did.

She goes home, and her first instinct is to do nothing, to go on with her life. She can't see how what she did would ever be discovered.

If she could tell her seventeen-year-old self only would thing, it would be: _Don't trust your instincts. You're selfish to the bone, not to mention sadistic, and your instincts are to take and hurt. Don't try to hand a classmate over because you think it'll keep you and your loved ones safe. _

Of course, her other instincts, the ones she had ignored, had been to say, "_I love you, too_," to idly considering going on proper dates with Justin once the war was over and they were both safe, to give in and go join the resistance with him in the hidden room.

Not all her instincts are bad, but it's clear she often chooses the wrong ones to follow.

When Peter comes home, she tells him they have to talk. "In my seventh year, I lost my virginity to a classmate," she tells him. "It wasn't Draco, it wasn't anyone you know. But earlier today, I met him, and we had sex. And I won't tell you his name, because he was under the impression fidelity wasn't an important part of our marriage, and- yeah, there it is. I cheated."

He sits quietly, and she waits for him to reply. This might be the worst mistake she's ever made, but it's high time she started doing what she ought to do, and now, she's made the first step. Where that step will go is anyone's guess.


End file.
